Monetary Value
by Theater Raven
Summary: Based on the film "The Dark Knight". Feeling unappreciated and left out of all the fun, Two-Face's coin decides to break loose and go on in search of an adventure of his own.
1. Escaping the Pocket

**Monetary Value**

_Up, up—spin! Spin! Spin!—Down, down, slap on the wrist._

_Up, up—spin! Spin! Spin!—Down, down, slap on the wrist._

_Up, up—spin! Spin! Spin_

This was so boring.

Master got to have all the fun.

Master got to do all the interesting work and what did_ he_ get to do? Just spin up in the air and flip around until he was sick to his little metallic stomach.

The Coin dropped back down—_again_—and landed on tails. He saw the beginnings of a bank robbery his master was conducting before he was shoved back into the pocket. This was boring. He was used time and time again—he had everything from blood to dirty money on his hands—and yet, he still felt like he just stepped out of the mint. He could still remember being engraved . . . Wild screams soon rained down from up above as nickels, dimes, pennies, and quarters came spilling into Master's pocket.

"Hey, it's dark in here!" yelled a quarter.

"Get your nose off my tail!"

"I can't find Mary—where's Mary?"

"I'm over here!"

"Where?"

"This pocket smells funny. When's the last time this guy washed his jeans?"

The Coin smiled. Company! He couldn't remember the last time he'd had company.

"Hey, everybody, can I have your attention, please?" he shouted and all the panicky coins quieted. "Look, here's the gist: You've just become the property of an insane, two-faced—literally—criminal who used to be the D.A. of this great city. I'm the one who decides the fates of hundreds of people he meets every day—and I'm bored out of my mind."

There was a long pause.

"We have to get out of here!" screamed a dime as she feverishly began shoving against the side of the pocket.

Whilst all the coins began to follow her example, The Coin quietly slipped to his side of the pocket. There had been a tear in its seam he had known about for weeks and now, with other coins besides him in the pocket, he could sneak out and be on the streets long before Master noticed he was gone. With a smile, he slipped through the hole and dropped onto the sunshine-lit sidewalk.

#

He never knew there were so many smells out there! Exhaust from cars, food in dumpsters, women's perfume, food being made in cafes . . . He didn't know why Master was so cranky all the time when there was all this great stuff out in the world. Casually rolling down the street, The Coin did his best to make the mouth of the face engraved in him smile. This was a happy day. It was a beautiful day.

He wondered if the _other_ side of the street was this nice. He looked across the street. It looked exactly the same as the side he was on now, but he still wanted to see it, anyway. There was just one problem—the crazy road of zooming cars that stood in his way. The Coin glanced up and down the street, trying to analyze the situation. He began to notice a pattern—the cars seemed to be obeying the commands of this giant, three-eyed being hanging from a lamppost.

Each of the creature's eyes was a different color—the first was red, the middle one yellow, and the last one green. When he blinked his red eye, the cars stopped. The Coin knew if he could negotiate with this three-eyed thing he could get across the street safely. He rolled over to the curb and looked up at the three-eyed creature.

"Um, excuse me, Mr. Three-Eyed Giant?" The Coin yelled above the roaring traffic. "Yeah, I'm trying to get across the street, so I was wondering if you could just blink your red eye for a really long time—it takes a lot longer for me to move since I don't have legs. Anyway, do you think you could do that? I'd really appreciate it."

There was no answer from the three-eyed creature.

"Please?" begged The Coin.

Still no answer. The Coin frowned. He was about to ask again when something kicked him from behind and he was flung forward into the middle of the street. A car came whizzing by and nearly squashed him. Quickly rolling through the wild maze of cars, The Coin arrived safely on the other side of the street. He began to roll towards a bakery.

#

"Hey, guys!" Mary yelled, "I found a rip in the lining!"

"Yea!" cheered all the other coins.

Everyone started rolling towards the hole, but before anyone could escape, they heard the voice of their captor shouting something to a hotdog vendor he had apparently met on the street.

"Five dollars and ninety-five cents for a hotdog? That's ridiculous!" Harvey "Two-Face" Dent was shouting. "Look, buddy, I expect to be able to fill my stomach with clearly non-nutritious meat byproducts for _at least_ under three dollars."

"Um, sir—," the terrified hotdog vendor tried to cut in.

"Don't interrupt me. Heads says you give me the hotdog for free, tails says I just take it from you anyway . . . and either way, I expect it to be drowning in ketchup."

All the coins madly scurried to get out of the way as a hand shoved down into the pocket. For a moment, the hand felt around, first casually, and then in a more panicky tone. The hand withdrew and they all heard Two-Face's voice again.

"Um . . . can you excuse me for a minute, please? "

He stepped away from the hotdog stand. The hand came back into the pocket, thrust around wildly for a minute, then, the coins heard his voice scream,

"_Where is it?_"


	2. A Bakery and a Coffee Shop

**Chapter Two**

Bread was awesome.

The Coin rolled around the counter, looking at all the yummy bread. He wished he had a real mouth so he could eat some. Who _didn't_ love bread? There were so many different kinds—shapes, sizes, types of dough . . . Yep, bread was definitely a great food substance that humans just didn't seem to appreciate very much. He rolled into the kitchen, wanting to see the master bread makers at work.

#

"Freedom!" all the coins screamed happily, tumbling out of Two-Face's pocket as he emptied it frantically.

The coins landed on the sidewalk and, squatting and bending over them like a chicken bends over to peck kernels of corn, Two-Face shifted through the coins, his hands moving at lightening speed out of nervousness.

"Where is it? Where is it? Where is it? I know I put it in _this_ pocket! I always put it in this pocket! It's my Special Pocket!"

"He's a crazed maniac and he has a 'special pocket'? I don't want to know," Mary, the dime, said as she scooted away to avoid being picked up again.

"Yeah, that sounds scary," Benny, a quarter, answered, dropping from in between Two-Face's fingers.

"It's not here!" Two-Face screamed to himself. "I _have_ to find it!"

And he stood up and ran down the street, all the coins relieved that he was gone.

#

It was hot. Really, really hot.

He should never have gone in the kitchen. He could hardly move now. The dough he had fallen into was hardening now because of the oven's heat. The Coin tried to yell for help again, but his mouth was full of dough—sourdough.

He just hoped that the heat wouldn't melt him. He didn't like the idea of being eaten. At all. It made his stomach churn more than when Master flipped him. He actually found himself missing the flips . . . for a moment.

"Mmmph!" he screamed again, the dough in his mouth.

So, this was it. This was how it was going to end. He was going to be gobbled up and Master would never know what happened to him . . . a little tear came to The Coin's eye. As much as everyone else hated him, he loved his master . . . and Master had been nicer, once, before his accident . . .

And speaking of accidents, his fatal one was about to be complete. The Coin gave one last struggle before he slipped beneath the now-nearly-hardened surface. There was a ringing in his ears. Then, he started to be pulled towards . . . a light. A warm, white light. It was the light from the open oven door.

The baker pulled out the loaf of bread and stuck a toothpick in it. The toothpick came out doughy.

"Nope. Still not done," he said to himself.

Before he slipped the loaf back in, he thought he saw the light flash on something metallic and could have sworn he heard the ding of a coin dropping on the tile floor . . .

#

A dark and stormy knight was approaching.

Overhead, storm clouds were thundering and rain would soon fall, but that's not the knight I'm talking about. This knight was striding confidently down the street, his eyes gleaming from the special bat-vision devices installed in his suit, his cape gently flapping behind him; he was thinking of turning off his sonar. Tonight had actually been pretty dull, nothing out of the ordinary. He had helped a little old lady and her poodle, Sprinkles, cross the street and later, he comforted this crazed hotdog vendor who kept muttering something about "heads and tails". What? Life as a superhero didn't guarantee bone-breaking, blood-chilling crime fighting every single night! What was his life, an action movie?

He turned off his sonar. Despite there not being much action going on tonight, he still needed to be on full alert. One could never tell when danger was just about to . . . oh, but that Dairy Queen across the street kept taunting him . . . the world could do without their night guard whilst he spent half an hour enjoying an ice cream. Batman headed across the street.

#

He smiled at himself, looking at his reflection in the window of the coffee shop. Then again, he was always smiling.

The Joker spun around in the revolving door—several times, just for the heck of it—and came twirling into the restaurant, giggling.

"That was fun," he said to himself, having to stand still for a few minutes so the room would stop spinning.

Once the room was stable, he glanced around at the dimly-lit interior. Big, comfy chairs and couches were placed around coffee tables. The various characters found in a coffee shop were seen—the serious writer scribbling feverishly over a notepad, every once in a while glancing up from her work to sip from a mug and survey her surroundings, the banker reading the Wall Street Journal, not even looking up to see what was around him, and the random homeless guy who everyone knew was a regular but nobody knew his name or where he came from. He made his way to the register, bought a coffee, and headed for a dim area of the coffee shop.

The Joker sank wearily into a chair, sipping his coffee, glancing at the other people seated around him. A little kid to his left started laughing hysterically at the sight of his face.

"Clown! Clown, clown, clown!" the toddler cried, stretching his arms toward the Joker's smile.

The Joker responded by snapping his teeth, barely missing the child's fingertips. His mother snatched the child away, getting up to leave, calling the Joker a heartless jerk on her way out and saying she hoped he never got hired for birthday parties.

"Thank you, I needed a laugh today," a voice said off to the Joker's left, in the chair across from him.

The Joker leaned forward in his seat, squinting into the darkness.

"Harvey? Harvey Two-Face?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You got 'im," the voice answered, bringing a mug to his lips for a drink.

"What brings _you_ here? I didn't see you as much of a coffee drinker."

"Hey, coffee is awesome, and don't you forget it."

"Okay, okay, sorry. Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"I lost it."

"Well, Harvey, no offense, but, it's no secret that you went kinda nuts after your accident. I helped you make that frolicking, joyous leap over the edge, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Two-Face answered, managing a small laugh despite his misery. "But, no, what I meant was, I lost my coin."

The Joker dropped his mug.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute,_ the_ coin?"

"The one and only."

"No . . . way . . ." the Joker exclaimed, the black circles around his eyes widening as his eyes opened in surprise.

"I know. I had it in my Special Pocket—."

"Your . . ._ Special Pocket_? What the hell is that?"

"I'm afraid that information's classified."

". . . Okay. So, go ahead . . ."

"Well, I had it when I committed a crime today and when I went to check my pocket to buy a hotdog, it was . . . gone."

Two-Face's lower lip quivered helplessly like a five-year-old child's when a favorite toy is lost. The Joker stared, blinking, not moved.

"So . . . what crime did you commit?"

"Robbed a bank."

"Oh. Wait a second, if you robbed a bank, why are you so distraught about this one little coin?"

"It's _my_ coin!" Two-Face said, finally breaking and starting to cry. "I remember when I first took him from the mint—he was still warm in my hand. And then we went to the park, and the ballet, and the ice cream parlor, and then we went to—."

"And you call yourself a villain," Joker muttered.

"Hey, I wasn't _always_ a villain. Unlike _some people_, I actually remember my past!"

There was a pause; the coffee shop went dead silent as everyone looked at them.

"Ooooh!" everyone chorused, then, someone yelled, "You got _served_, Joker!"

The Joker rolled his eyes.

"Look," he said to the distraught Two-Face, "I have nothing better to do tonight, so I think I can help you. Actually, I _know_ someone who can help you. She wasn't in the movie, but she definitely turned_ my_ life around."

Two-Face shrugged.

"Sure. Why not?"


	3. Brain Freezes and Therapy Sessions

**Chapter Three**

"So . . ._ this_ was the D.A. of Gotham City," said Dr.—well, former doctor who was now somehow conveniently back in practice—Quinzel for the fourth time, nibbling the eraser on the end of her pencil.

"Yeah, that's him," the Joker answered, studying her degrees on the wall. "Hey, did you really go to Yale?"

"Of course I did—for fifteen whole minutes, thank you. The sweatshirt I got to prove it is hanging in the closet. See for yourself."

With the Joker distracted, Harley turned to her patient. He was lying on the couch, staring up at the twirling ceiling fan above his head.

"So, Mr . . . .?"

"Two-Face."

"I thought your name was Harvey."

"I changed it. And it's just 'Two-Face'; I don't need the 'Mr.' in front of it to make me feel any older than I already am."

"Okay. So, Two-Face, tell me, what is the meaning of your coin?"

"It is the deciding factor which allows me to get through my day without becoming clinically depressed and or suicidal."

_And_ now_ you would classify yourself as . . .?_ Harley thought to herself. She cleared her throat.

"Well, that's very good, Two-Face, but what I mean is _why_ do you have the urge to flip the coin every time you make a decision?"

#

Why he didn't indulge in ice cream more often, he had no idea. Ribbons of caramel, chocolate lacework, and sequins of sprinkles decorated the soft, creamy, white fabric of vanilla ice cream and all these beautiful colors blended together into the amazingly glorious tapestry classified as a sundae. The Coin coasted through the sweet layers of the sundae, loving the feeling of the ice cream melting around him, the soft caramel caressing his face, the—oh, no, here came the spoon again! He scurried out of the way, but the spoon—which was held by a hand covered in a black leather glove—seemed to be following him. He became cornered by the side of the bowl. The spoon was heading for him at a horribly rapid pace.

"Help! Help!" screamed The Coin, squeezing his eyes shut, anticipating the end.

"Hey, down here!" yelled a voice and The Coin recognized the voice as one of the coins he had met when Master robbed the bank.

"Yes, hello, who's there?" he called hurriedly, trying to dodge the spoon as it inched nearer.

"I recognize you," the coin on the floor said, "You're that coin the crazy guy who kidnapped us is looking for!"

"He's looking for me?"

"I wouldn't call it _looking_, exactly—it's a coin hunt, my friend. The guy's going door-to-door demanding to look at every coin that can be found in that area. Last we saw, he was headed off with a clown—maybe he went to look for you at the circus or something."

"Not that I find this uninteresting, but, I don't want to be eaten!"

"Oh, right. Get out of the bowl and I'll catch you."

"Okay."

The Coin would have to roll as fast as he could in order to propel himself over the edge of the other side of the bowl if he wanted to be free. He rolled and rolled and rolled and rolled and—.

"Aargh!"

"What? What?" the nickel on the floor yelled, terrified.

For a moment, there was no answer from the bowl, and the nickel was terrified that his friend had been eaten by the giant half-man, half-bat creature that was sitting eating the ice cream. Then, The Coin's voice cried out, in a high-pitched squeak that conveyed indescribable pain,

". . . Brain . . . freeze . . ."

#

"Two-Face? Two-Face?_ Two-Face_?"

Two-Face had become lost in the twirling ceiling fan again.

"My coin used to flip around and around like that," he said distractedly, a creepily-happy grin on his face.

Harley slammed her head down onto her notepad.

"I've often forgotten why I left psychiatry, but one look at a patient like you and it all comes flooding back," she muttered into her notepad.

"I thought it was because you fell in love with me," the Joker murmured in her ear.

Harley jumped, startled that he was right behind her. A smile momentarily crossed her face as she remembered their sessions, how she fell in love with him, the guards dragging her away kicking and screaming to a cell after it was found she helped him escape . . . yeah, those were the days. . .

"I—miss—my—coin!" Two-Face exclaimed, sobbing between each word.

"You didn't tell me he was going to cry," Harley said, slightly disturbed by and, at the same time, a little sympathetic to the fact that the legendary Two-Face was now bawling like a child on her couch.

"I didn't know he would," the Joker said, rolling his eyes, "I'm tellin' ya, toots, this guy's a villain rookie if I ever saw one."

Harley nodded in agreement, staring for a minute at the distraught Two-Face, wondering what to do with him. He was putting even _her_ psychiatric skills to the test.

#

"Come on!" the nickel on the floor yelled.

"It's so cold!" whimpered The Coin.

"That's going to be the least of your problems if you don't jump."

"Okay, okay!"

The Coin flung himself over the edge and fell to the floor. He was covered in ice cream, shivering.

"Cold! Cold! Cold! Cold!" he shivered.

The nickel rolled over to him, clicking against him sympathetically—the coin equivalent of a hug.

"There, there," the nickel said comfortingly.

"Thanks," The Coin said. "Now, let's get out of here."

They rolled towards the door.

#

"You may be the legendary Dark Knight, but you've had enough," Eugene, the employee behind the counter, said.

"C'mon, I can—_hic_!—have just one more," Batman slurred, his belly enlarged from ice cream, a streak of melted vanilla ice cream on his upper lip.

"Oy," Eugene muttered to himself, "If the press ever got a hold of this . . ."

"What'd ya say?"

Eugene groaned.

"Of all the ice cream parlors in all the world, why the hell did you pick this one?"

"I _like_ it!"

Eugene started typing furiously on a laptop.

"I'm going to fix you, Batman. I'm researching how to reverse the affects of a sugar high."


	4. Sensing a Breakthrough

**Chapter Four**

". . . And then, after we saw _The Phantom of the Opera_, we went and talked to the actor who played the Phantom, Howard McGillin. He was very nice and said he liked my coin and asked if he could see it."

"And what did you do?"

"I let him see it for two seconds. Then I snatched it away and ran down the street, laughing manically."

Harley pursed her lips, staring at Two-Face, who was still seated on her couch. The Joker was busy drawing anti-Batman insignias on the walls with crayons. As of now, their first session had been going on for three hours, no breaks. Harley rested her aching head in her hands; she felt ready to snap back into her jester-like alter ego, Harley Quinn, but knew she had to maintain the role of being the "good doctor" for the sanity—if he had any left—of her patient.

"It is my professional opinion that . . ." she began.

Two-Face looked at her expectantly, the eager-little-boy grin on his face starting to creep her out.

"You're a very strange little man," she concluded.

"No, I'm not!" Two-Face said calmly.

She was about to explain to him that he indeed was when he added slyly,

"You know what they say about men who go walking around carrying large coins."

Harley's mouth curved gently into a sugar-coated smile that was too sweet to be real.

"Uh oh," the Joker said, looking up from working on his drawing of King Arthur heroically using Excalibur to slay the Dark Knight, "I think she's finally gone batty!"

He picked up his large box of crayons and dropped it on Harley's head. She fell out of her chair onto the floor, unconscious.

"That'll bring her around," the Joker said. "She was about to snap and she hasn't finished helping you yet."

Two-Face looked at his therapist lying on the floor, her open white lab coat flowing around her like the billowing skirts of a ball gown. Yep, she was out cold, there was no question about that.

"Are you sure she'll be okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"Oh, sure," the Joker said. "The way I see it, she looks just fine."

He was genuinely smiling now, for his vantage point standing over her and her position on the floor granted him a very nice, albeit slightly obscured, peek down her blouse.

#

"Lemonade! Please, lemonade!" Batman begged, tears in his eyes.

"No!" Eugene shouted.

The curly red-haired, freckle-faced seventeen-year-old Dairy Queen employee had become as tough as a drill sergeant over the past three hours.

"You need salty foods to counteract all the ice cream you ate. You've got—."

"No one to blame but myself, I know, I know."

"The point exactly! Now you're gonna eat these pretzels and sour gummy worms and you're gonna like it! Eat!"

Batman groaned, shoveling another handful of pretzels in his mouth and slowly beginning to chew.

#

"Hey, look at this," said the nickel as they stopped in front of a building, "It's a pet store! Come on, let's go in!"

The two coins rolled into the pet store.

"Awww, look at all the bunnies!" the nickel said.

The Coin, however, was more interested in the kittens. Master liked kittens. He had had a couple of cats before his accident.

"I'm going to go see the kittens," he announced and the nickel nodded, he himself rolling off towards the bunny cage.

The Coin perched himself on the edge of the cage, only needing to lean forward a bit to reach through the grate.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!"

"Mew!" answered the kittens.

Two tri-colored cats lay curled up together in a corner, three black kittens were nibbling kibble from their food bowl, and two smoky gray kittens were just sitting watching the people pass by.

"How's it going over there, Bob?" the Coin called to the nickel.

Bob giggled.

"I'm feeding them carrots!" he exclaimed happily, pushing a carrot slice through the cage to the bunnies. "What about you?"

"I'm just watching—."

And he slipped.

For a moment, he lay on the soft wood chips, stunned. Then, he saw a furry little face looking down at him. Then another. And another.

"Mew?" one of the kittens asked quizzically.

The Coin's eyes opened wide and he drew in his breath in horror as a furry little paw tapped him, all the faces staring in fascination at the small, shiny object that had magically dropped into their midst.

He was surrounded by kitties.

#

Batman lay on the floor, exhausted, his stomach enlarged.

"I hate you, Eugene. I really, really hate you. If Scarecrow or Joker or any other assortment of my arch enemies ever come after you, you're on your own."

"That's fine with me," Eugene said as he cleared away the empty pretzel bags and gummy worm wrappers.

Batman groaned.

"I am never eating ice cream ever again. Consider me a lost customer."

Eugene nodded, turning on the television so he could listen to the news while he washed the dishes.

#

Harley opened her eyes, finding herself lying on the couch. Pain throbbed through her head. She closed her eyes again, moaning softly.

"You need to rest. You've had quite a bump given to you," said a voice beside her, a hand resting on her head.

Harley loved the feeling of the hand. It was cool and soft and comforting. She wondered if a doctor had been summoned . . .

"You really don't have to do this," the voice continued. "I'm sure I'll be able to find it on my own, but thank you for your help."

Harley, were her head not pounding, would have leapt up in surprise. Two-Face? That calm, caressing voice and the gentle hand that lay on her forehead came from _Two-Face_, the guy who apparently as a child had never been taught that a "Magic 8 Ball" was just a toy and who now as an adult went walking around deciding people's fates at the flip of a coin? Wow, he really _did_ have split personalities!

The thought that, the last she had remembered, he had been shivering nervously on her couch, nearly ready to snap, and now he was comforting and caring for her was amazingly fascinating; Harley had never encountered a case as severe as his. His hand stroked her forehead again, a hand that she knew could kill her if its owner wanted to, a hand that had maliciously flipped a coin to decide the fates of thousands and then had pulled the trigger on the unfortunate ones . . . the depth of the divide of his two personalities would make a fascinating study, and, Harley had to admit to herself, there was a certain aspect about these two contrasting personalities that made him quite . . . She shook her head. No. The last time she had let such thoughts about a patient enter her mind was when she had been assigned to study the Joker, and that hadn't exactly ended with her writing a book on the complexities of the criminal mind, as she had hoped it would . . .

"Where is the Joker?" she asked wearily.

"He went down to the cafeteria to go get us something to eat."

Harley nodded. She then opened her eyes and immediately saw something that made them widen in shock. Two-Face was _smiling_ at her.

"If you don't mind my saying so, Dr. Quinzel, you're very pretty."

"Oh!" she exclaimed quietly, as if a kitten had just leapt up out of nowhere into her lap. "Well . . . thank you."

His smile, which had held the sweetness of reminiscing in it, suddenly took on a sadder shade that Harley could recognize as the smile of someone who was trying to be cheerful even though a painful memory was plaguing their mind.

"You know," he said, reaching out to smooth her hair again and then deciding against it and drawing his hand back at the last minute, "If you had brown hair instead of blond, you'd look an awful lot like . . . Rachel."

Harley's blue eyes flashed. He had spoken the name very quietly, as if the person he spoke of was lying asleep in the room and he was gently trying to wake her. Two-Face had turned his back to her, his shoulders hunched as if he was anticipating a whip to come lashing across his back. Harley sat up slowly on the couch, drawing her legs up under her.

"Rachel?" she asked, very, very quietly, almost tenderly. "Who is she?"

His back flinched as the invisible whip struck. Harley could sense that a breakthrough was coming.


	5. Two Face Talks

**Chapter Five**

"Okay, sweet cakes, I've got the doughnuts and—oh, am I interrupting something?"

The Joker stood in the doorway, shocked at the sight before him. Harley, apparently having regained consciousness while he was away, sat with her legs crossed—God, did she have killer legs, the Joker noted—and a clipboard in her hands, carefully writing notes. Two-Face was lying calmly on the couch across from her, recounting his story to her in a voice that was surprisingly calm, for him, anyway. Quietly, so as not to disturb them, for, in spite of himself, the Joker found himself wanting to hear the story, too, he slipped into a corner and began munching on the doughnuts that were in a brown paper bag.

#

"I can't take it anymore!" the Coin screamed as another paw swatted at him. "This is worse than when Master used to flip me! At least he had a sense of when to _stop_!"

The kittens had been playing with him only for ten minutes, but it seemed like an eternity.

"How are you, Bob?"

"Still feeding the bunnies carrots!"

"Forget the bunnies! Get over here and _help me_!"

"But if the bunnies don't get their carrots, they won't have good eyesight."

"Forget the eyesight! Help me!"

"Okay, hang on, I'm on my way!"

And Bob began the long journey—hey, _you_ try rolling across a pet store floor without any legs—across the pet store, to the kitten cage on the other side.

#

"I got in the car after the press interview, once we put _him_ behind bars, temporarily," Two-Face was saying, looking at the Joker then turning to look back at Dr. Quinzel. "I told the driver to take me to the restaurant where I was supposed to meet Rachel for a late dinner."

"What restaurant was it?" his therapist asked.

"Olive Garden," Two-Face said, licking his lips, "I love Olive Garden."

"Oh, my God, I _know_!" the Joker exclaimed from his position over in the corner. "Their salad is to _die_ for—seriously, if they told me there was crack in the salad dressing, I'd believe them; something has to be up with it, that salad dressing is just too damn good—and their breadsticks are _killer_."

"And let's not forget the spaghetti," Two-Face began.

"You guys, can we focus, please?" the doctor cut in.

"Fine, but you have to promise to take us to Olive Garden after Two-Face finishes his story."

". . . Okay, fine."

"Yea!" the Joker said, cheering and clapping his hands like a little boy.

After staring at him for a beat, clearly disturbed, Dr. Quinzel turned back to her patient.

"Continue, Two-Face."

"Well, the car was going in the right direction, but then, it turned down a dark alley, going the wrong way, going down side streets I had never seen before. Then the person sitting in the back seat next to me struck me on the side of the head and I was knocked out and when I woke up, I was in the warehouse, wired to the chair, the oil drums all around me, and I could see the clock ahead of me, the giant numbers ticking away in big, red font . . ."

#

Bob finally reached the kitten cage. He was still on the floor. He began to make his way up the shelves of kitten chow next to it, crawling so that he would be at eye-level with the cage and he could reach in and save his friend.

_I'm almost there_, he said to himself.

He could just see the floor with the wood chips now. If he climbed a little higher, he would be able to . . .

#

"And I kept saying, 'It's going to be all right, Rachel, it's going to be all right,' even though I knew it wouldn't."

Two-Face was finding it harder to talk now. He was having to take a lot of pauses, his body was shaking, and the lights from the ceiling were reflected in tiny miniature forms in the wells of his eyes.

"Don't rush," his therapist said softly, "It doesn't have to all come out at once. If you have to pause for a minute, it's all right."

She found herself, momentarily, hating the Joker, her heart tearing and weeping for poor Harvey. She herself had yet to find someone who would love her as much as it was clear that Harvey and Rachel had cared about each other, but if she did, and someone was hurting her loved one, she would be furious. Now she understood what had pushed him over the edge. She couldn't even look towards the corner where the Joker sat because if she did, she was afraid she would snap into Harley Quinn and would turn on him like a tigress angered by her trainer.

"And then, the clock was down to only a few minutes. I could smell the oil of used car parts, the dusty smell of cardboard boxes, the smell of a warehouse, and then, there was the malevolent smell of gas, of the oil drums. The clock ticked. Rachel sounded like she was trying not to cry as she spoke. I wrestled out of my chair and, in desperation, started to drink the oil, drinking and drinking, coughing, the taste bitter in my mouth . . ."

There was a pause. He gave the most violent of shakes he had given so far and then,

"Drink, drink, drink, just keep drinking. Keep drinking. Maybe if I drink enough, that will kill me, not the fire, not the . . . Rachel, they're coming for you, don't be afraid, it's going to be all right."

"What's wrong with him?" the Joker asked, his voice strangely quiet, as Harley set down her clipboard and got up from her chair, crossing the room to the couch.

"Post traumatic stress syndrome," she said coldly without even looking at him. "He's reliving the moment."

She took Two-Face's hands in hers.

"Two-Face, look at me, look at me, you need to focus. It's not happening; you're safe, look at me . . ."

But he broke the hold her hands had over his and flailed around, suddenly screaming.

"No! No!" he shouted as Harley stumbled back from the couch. "No, no, not me, not me! Why are you coming for me? Rachel! _Rachel!_"

And he screamed and thrashed around as if flames were engulfing him and he fell off the couch and continued to flail. Then he lay still, coughing, choking, sweat running down his face and body, and he curled up on the floor, his knees drawn to his chest, and began to cry, and except for his sobs, the room was eerily silent.


	6. The First Trip to Olive Garden

**Chapter Six**

"That . . . was completely _insane!_" exclaimed the Coin as he and Bob rolled out of the pet store.

"I know!" Bob said, then, looking at his friend, added, "Hey, buddy, you've still got some kitty litter in your eye."

"Ew," said the Coin as he worked to get the grainy gray little speck out of his eye.

"Cheer up," Bob said comfortingly, then, noticing a Dairy Queen across the street, he pointed to it. "Come on, let's go get some ice cream."

"Are you nuts? Remember last time?"

"We'll be here now to look out for each other."

"Well, okay."

#

"If you supposedly hate ice cream so much, why are you still hanging out here?"

Eugene finished drying a banana split bowl he'd been washing.

"I'm the Dark Knight; I can do whatever the hell I want."

Batman drummed his fingers on the table.

"Okay, okay, fine."

A gentle breeze blew the door open; it was then that the two coins rolled in.

"Don't you have, like, a crime to go fight or something?"

"Surprisingly, no," Batman said. "All my super cool, could-never-_actually_-exist technology keeps me informed of all villain activity within Gotham City and its surrounding outskirts. These indicators indicate absolutely no indications of any super villain—or just the regular Mafia—activity or goings on whatsoever."

". . . So, basically, you have nothing to do?"

"Yeah. That's why I'm hanging out here."

"Oh, okay," Eugene said, then added, "Hey, look."

He bent down and picked Bob up off the floor. Bob screamed, although the two humans couldn't hear him.

"I told you coming here was a bad idea!" the Coin yelled as the screaming Bob was placed on the counter.

"Help me!" yelled Bob.

"Okay, okay, dude, don't freak out, I'm on my way."

The Coin began to roll toward the counter as Eugene began to wash a spoon. Suddenly, Eugene moved to grab another spoon to wash, and when he did, his elbow hit the side of the counter and Eugene cried out in surprised pain, but the Coin did not hear him. He watched and listened in horror as, while screaming, Bob fell into the sink and plunged into the dark, black abyss of the drain. The Coin sat in stunned silence—Master had no idea where he was, and, in an instant, Bob, his only friend, had been taken away; now he was really alone—and suddenly, a tear fell from the Coin's little eye.

#

"Forget it, toots, I'm _not_ splitting the spaghetti with you."

"Why not?" Harley asked, looking up from studying her menu.

"Look, I may not remember much about my past—actually, I don't remember _anything_ about my past—but I _do_ know that I've seen _Lady and the Tramp_ and I know what happens when two people, or dogs, eat spaghetti."

"But I'm in the mood—."

"You're _always_ in the mood," the Joker said, "I swear, sometimes I think the only way you must have even gotten a degree in psychiatry in the first place is by having your professors—the male ones—help you specialize in Freudian theory, if you know what I mean."

Harley stared at him, shocked at his indication, then rolled her eyes.

"I mean I'm in the mood for _spaghetti_," she said, glaring at him.

"There're other pastas here."

"What can I say," Harley said with a shrug, "I'm addicted to marinara."

"Other pastas are served with marinara," the Joker said, looking at the menu again.

"I want spaghetti!" Harley exclaimed and the Joker could hear the high-pitched voice of Harley Quinn creeping in through the calmer voice of Dr. Quinzel.

He shuddered. The last thing he wanted was for Harley to make a scene in this wonderful place. Not here. Not at Olive Garden. But still, he wasn't going to back down.

"Look, if you want spaghetti so badly, share it with Two-Face."

Harley glanced over at Two-Face, who was stabbing at a tomato slice in his salad, one that looked delicious, coated with dressing and sprinkled with parmesan cheese, and when he looked up at her, she smiled at him.

Two-Face looked at her, then at the Joker, finding it creepy that they were both smiling at him and also completely confused because he had been so absorbed with his tomato slice catching that he wasn't aware of the events around him. He set down his fork.

"I'm sorry, um, _what_ were we doing?"

"Want to split the spaghetti, Two-Face?" Harley asked, smiling at him.

"Sure, that sounds good," he said, unable to restrain from smiling back at her.

She had such a pretty smile, he thought to himself, and her crystal clear blue eyes shone beautifully in the light that came down from the ceiling lamps hanging overhead . . .

#

"Let me get this straight: You're the legendary Joker, the guy who's always smiling and yet everyone's afraid of him, 'the Man Who Laughs', and yet, you ordered _that_?"

Two-Face pointed his fork at the plate in front of the Joker.

"What?" the Joker asked innocently, "I _like_ it!"

"Well, no offense, but a dish called 'Venetian Apricot Chicken' doesn't exactly scream, 'horrifying villain'."

"Shut up. I'm a sucker for apricots."

Two-Face turned his attention to Harley, who sat across the table from him, twirling her spaghetti around on her fork.

"Yum!" she exclaimed happily after she'd eaten a mouthful. "Okay, you guys are right: Olive Garden rocks."

"Um, yeah, it does," the Joker said as if the answer was obvious, pointing a breadstick at her that he had taken from the basket in the middle of the table.

He took a bite, closing his eyes, and a look of ecstasy crossed his face.

"I love bread!" the Joker exclaimed after swallowing.

"Who doesn't?" Two-Face asked.

"Bread haters/"

"True."

"Two-Face, we really should eat more of this before it gets cold."

Two-Face twirled more spaghetti on his fork. Harley did the same. The Joker nearly burst out laughing when he saw they each had the same noodle on their forks, but he kept quiet, knowing the results of said situation would be even funnier. They were slurping now . . .

They accidentally kissed.

Two-Face's eyes nearly popped out of his head and Harley's face flushed red. For a second, they just stayed there like that, their lips barely touching. They weren't sure how to get themselves out of the situation. The Joker wanted to teasingly ask if the two of them would like to be left alone and tell them that, with a few threats and the waves of a pistol, he could empty the restaurant for them, but he couldn't ask that; he was laughing too hard.

"Well . . . this has been interesting," Harley said, once the two of them were apart.

"Indeed," Two-Face said, but surprisingly, his eyes were not dancing in embarrassed laughter and his voice was very, very quiet.

They both looked over at the Joker. His clown makeup clad face was buried in his gloved hands. His shoulders were shaking and he was laughing so hard that the laughter made no sound.

"Hilarious," he finally gasped when he could talk, "Absolutely hilarious!"

"I don't think it was very funny," Two-Face said in the same quiet voice, and his companions noticed that he had slumped against the back of the booth they were sitting in.

#

It was late before they all got back to the hotel where the Joker and Two-Face were staying, which was near the asylum where Harley worked. The Joker entered the building right away, looking forward to a good night's sleep, but Two-Face stayed behind.

"Dr. Quinzel?" he called quietly as she was leaving.

She turned back to him.

"Yes?"

He stared at her for a minute, at her long blond hair, which had turned from gold to silver in the moonlight, draped over her shoulder, at her eyes, shining like little stars in the light of the street lamp she was standing next to . . .

"Thank you for your help today," he said, changing what he was going to say at the last moment.

"All in a day's work," she replied. "We'll continue more with this tomorrow. And . . . I'm sorry about, well . . . that kiss."

For a minute, Two-Face stared at her in surprise, not sure what she was talking about.

"Oh, that!" he exclaimed, laughing, remembering the spaghetti, the unscarred side of his face flushing. "Yes, well, that's all right."

She laughed a light, nervous little laugh. The unscarred side of his face was what was closest to her line of vision and it reminded her of all the advertisements she had seen of him when he was running for office . . . "I Believe in Harvey Dent", the posters, buttons, TV ads, and newspaper slogans had read . . . she had never been really into politics, but she had heard so much about him and watched his speeches so often that she started to believe the things he said, that Gotham City would be all right, that, although the Batman was a great assistance to fighting crime, there would come a day when Gotham no longer needed the vigilante . . . It was hard for Harley to believe that that man who had sounded so proud, so sincere, so genuinely concerned for the people and passionate about the everyday person was now reduced to a shadow of his former self, a mere phantom of the man he had once been . . .He was handsome; that was the first thing that had crossed her mind when she first saw him in the ads, long ago, and now, as she looked at the uninjured side of his face, she thought . . .

"Goodnight, Two-Face," she said, shaking her head slightly, telling herself she could _not_ make the same mistake again of thinking such thoughts about a patient.

A flicker of disappointment seemed to cross his face, disappointment that the conversation was over and that she was going to leave.

"Goodnight," he said and turned and walked inside the building.

She looked out of the taxi back window to the empty stoop as she was driven home. The hotel's front steps got smaller and smaller until they had slowly disappeared in the night.


	7. The Joker's Hypothesis

Author's Note: This chapter contains **ADULT HUMOR**. You have been warned.

**Chapter Seven**

The Coin opened his eyes groggily. It was morning. He had hidden himself carefully in between the bananas and the chocolate syrup and now he rolled out from where he had been sleeping to assess the situation. The Dairy Queen was still locked; Eugene hadn't come into work yet, and the Coin was grateful for the quiet. Now he could think about what to do: He wanted to get back to his master.

#

"Are you okay?"

Two-Face looked up from his French toast. Had the Joker just asked him if he was okay?

"Are you okay?"

Yes, he had.

"I guess so," Two-Face answered, "Why?"

"I don't know," the Joker said with a shrug, stabbing at one of the many strawberries that, along with the mounds of whipped cream, covered his pancakes, "You were acting really weird last night—weird even for you, I mean."

"Really? How so?"

The Joker ate the strawberry he had speared before replying.

"You just seemed . . . gone. Off in your own little fantasy land, y'know?"

"I did?" Two-Face asked, trying to sound surprised, for he did not want to tell the Joker that he knew all too well where his thoughts had been the previous night, that he had had dreams of her . . .

"Yeah," the Joker said, now eating a bite of pancake with some whipped cream on it. "You had this weird look in your eye, like you were thinking . . ."

"Thinking about _what_?"

"You were thinking about a chick—and don't deny it; I know that look!—and you were clearly enjoying your thoughts."

Two-Face stared down at his French toast, speared and ate a bite, and took a sip of coffee before glancing up at the Joker again.

The Joker took a drink of pomegranate juice, his eyes locked on Two-Face as he did so, then, after setting down his glass, the Joker continued to look at him for a minute.

"You know what," the Joker said after a pause, "I think I finally figured out what's wrong with you. I mean, I'm no Harley, but I think I have a hypothesis. Wanna hear it?"

"Sure, why not?" Two-Face said after taking a sip of coffee.

#

When Eugene came into work that morning, the Coin hid himself in his place between the bananas and the chocolate syrup. He decided that the best way to find his master again was to make himself noticed. After all, someone was _bound_ to recognize him as being Master's property, so . . . but who to reveal himself to . . .?

#

The waiter who had been serving them at the Denny's poured more coffee into Two-Face's mug and left. When he was gone, the two men sitting in the booth went back to their conversation.

"Okay," the Joker said, placing his elbows up on the table and resting his chin in his interlocked hands, "I don't think it's the coin you miss, it's a girl."

There was a pause as the two men stared at each other. The Joker wasn't exactly sure how to phrase what he wanted to say next, and, after coming up with several metaphorical versions in his head, he decided to just be very blatant and direct:

"When's the last time you got laid?"

The bite of French toast Two-Face had been eating went down the wrong pipe.

"I mean, really," the Joker said once Two-Face had stopped choking on his breakfast, "When's the last time you got laid? I mean _really_ got laid. And I don't mean the emotional, lasts-all-night, sweet, passionate, makes-you-cry-when-its-finished lovemaking crap—."

Now Two-Face was staring at him in a way that conveyed that he was slightly creeped out.

"Not that I've ever experienced that particular genre myself, mind you," the Joker said quickly, his eyes shifting around nervously, then, he got back on track, "I mean, I'm talking about the kind that makes you feel like your eyes are going to pop out of your head and you're screaming so loud you think they'll hear you in China—_that_ kind. When's the last time _that_ happened to you?"

There was no response from the man seated across from him; Two-Face just sat with his fork in midair, a piece of French toast stuck on the prongs.

"You _definitely_ need a chick, a one-night-only type of deal," the Joker said after a few minutes of Two-Face not saying anything or eating the bite of French toast he had on his fork, "If you want, I can hook you up."

Now Two-Face was _really_ staring at him.

"Hey, you'd be surprised at how many girls there are out there who have fetishes for evil clowns," the Joker said, "Especially where _I_ live."

"Really? Where do you live?"

"I can't tell you the exact location, but it used to be a funhouse."

Two-Face nodded.

"Well, thank you for your . . . concern, but, I don't think I'll be needing any of that."

"What?" the Joker exclaimed, the black circles of makeup around his eyes widening along with the eyes themselves, "Are you crazy?"

"No," Two-Face answered quietly, sipping his coffee.

"C'mon, a guy can have the noblest intentions out there, but subconsciously, _every_ guy's got a Don Juan inside him!"

"Not me."

"Oh, don't try to fool me, come on, you mean to tell me you've never seen a girl who's a complete stranger from across the room at a party, have looked at her, and thought to yourself, _I want to screw her_?"

"Of course I've had _thoughts_, but—."

"Well then, there ya go! It doesn't take much to act upon them! I almost did, once, the last time _I_ saw a girl at a party. She was beautiful!"

"Which party?"

"It doesn't matter!" the Joker said, not wanting to confess that it had been at the fundraiser he had crashed and where he had nearly given Rachel a Glasgow smile.

"Look, I'm just not the kind of guy who follows thoughts like that."

"Oh, sure, _Harvey Dent_ is saying that, but I don't think Two-Face feels the same way. Actually, if you don't mind my saying so, I would think the whole dual personality thing would creep into your love life."

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, _this guy_," the Joker said, pointing to the uninjured side of Harvey's face, "Him, I could see him doing the dinner beforehand, flowers and chocolates, rose petals on the bed, candles all around, that type of thing—the romantic, y'know?"

". . . Okay, I guess you're right."

"Now, the other guy," the Joker went on, pointing to the scarred side of the face, "I see him picking up some one-night chick in the sleaziest bar he could possibly find and upon entering said establishment, he's dressed in leather, wearing a black pimp hat, and wielding a whip. Even to a guy like me, that's just disturbing."

"If you don't mind," Two-Face said, clearly irritated now, "I'd like it if this conversation turned elsewhere. Besides, check out the time. We've gotta go. We're late for the next session with Dr. Quinzel."

"Crap, you're right," the Joker said, looking at the clock on the wall, and he shoveled down the rest of his strawberry pancakes and gulped down the last of his pomegranate juice.

"Should I call the waiter over to give us the check?"

"No time," the Joker said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, "We've gotta dine and dash."

"We can't do that—it's dishonest."

"We have to."

"But I've never done that before. I don't _want_ to do it."

"Do it for yourself—your mental health is at stake. Come on, let's go."

And the Joker dragged Two-Face out a side door before he could protest further.


End file.
